No horse kicks harder than a dying one: Ending dehumanising attitudes to immigration
Kendi Guantai, Dean for Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion at the University of Leeds, came to the UK from her home country of Kenya to study for her Masters and PhD. Following the UK general elections, she talks about her experiences, her hopes for the new government and the prospects for our shared humanity and global outlook at Leeds.
Asked during the recent election campaign how I felt about the rhetoric from politicians on immigration, I was reminded of the wisdom of my good friend Dr David Robinson-Morris who calls this: ‘the last kicks of a dying horse.’
I tend to agree. Change is happening and people are starting to see through much of the negative stereotyping that demonises immigration. The University of Leeds is a better institution because of immigration. Our international students are invaluable to us and our economy.
To be truly global, we need to have an international community that is truly diverse and creates the conditions where people like me, from sub-Saharan Africa, and many other parts of the world, feel welcome.
As we continue to embrace and build equity, diversity and inclusion in the University, others from similar backgrounds will see themselves represented in the success stories of people who look like them. Only then will they genuinely believe that they too can thrive in our environment.
My journey into academia
Role models are important, and my father was certainly a role model to me. I was 14 when my father first planted the seed in me to come to the UK.
He was doing his Masters degree in Leicester and on a visit to London sent me a postcard of Parliament and Big Ben, with the message: “If you work really hard this place will be waiting for you.”
It was inspiring. My father showed me what was possible. He was from a traditional African village in Kenya and against all odds, he became the first in the family and the village to go to university. He taught me that before we have role models, we must have trailblazers!
It paved the way for me.
My journey into academia was not straightforward. Before I came to the UK, I worked in industry for seven years, with the Kenyan Revenue Authority (KRA) being my last posting. People always sound surprised when I tell them that I am a fully trained revenue officer/tax collector!
At KRA, I worked in Corporate Affairs and Public Relations. I was ambitious and progressed quickly to become the Head of Customer Care.
It was an exciting time in Kenya. We had a visionary Head of State who put all heads of government departments and institutions on performance contracts, including my then boss. Consequently, we were all put on performance contracts and had to work together to meet the stretching Ministry of Finance targets as well as our other legal and fiscal obligations.
It is here that I learnt the power of visionary leadership as well as collaborative working, because not only did we meet our targets, but we also often surpassed them!
When I realised I was Black
Although I was thoroughly enjoying my work and making a discernible contribution, being young and female, I hit the glass ceiling quickly and had to think of other ways to develop my career.
It was then that my father’s words on that postcard to my 14-year-old self came back to me. I made the decision to fulfil my father’s wish and seek the opportunity to do a Masters degree in the UK.
Thankfully, my employer was incredibly supportive, and although I was self-funded, they granted me a career break to pursue my studies.
Coming to the UK was an exciting prospect and, in many ways, I knew what to expect, from the stories my father and others had shared of their time here, as well as from programmes I watched on television.
However, nothing could have prepared me for the ways in which the UK is racialised.
You see, it wasn’t until I landed here in the UK that I realised I was Black. It was the first time I was experiencing the world as a Minoritised Ethnic person.
Although there is racism in Kenya too, our society is not racialised in the same way and being part of the global majority, thinking of myself as Black was completely irrelevant.
Shortly after my arrival in the UK, I started to have racialised experiences which at first made no sense to me. For instance, I noticed that when I was sat on a bus, White people would usually prefer to stand rather than sit next to me, unless they knew me.
I would go into stores, particularly those considered to be higher-end, and the security guards would often follow me around, keeping a close eye on everything I did.
I also had the ‘N-word’ directed at me and other members of my family on numerous occasions. It was these micro-aggressions and micro-incivilities that awakened me to racism.
I remember approaching a lecturer who had taught me on my Masters programme, with a request to provide me with a written reference for a PhD scholarship from the Business School. They responded by looking me up and down and saying: “I wouldn’t waste my time. You will never get it!” This, despite my having a very strong academic record. I didn’t quite know what to make of it.
Was it racial bias? I wasn’t particularly racially sensitive, but I started to notice these things more and more.
The dehumanising immigration system
I then experienced the UK immigration system. It was not only unfriendly, but I also found it to be dehumanising.
There were so many hurdles to jump and so much paperwork, that I had to seek the help of immigration lawyers to help me with some of the applications, particularly when my visa extension applications were refused, twice, and I had to appeal.
In both appeals, I was successful. In the first, the Home Office withdrew their case on the same day as the court hearing because they really had no basis for it in the first place. My legal costs were not reimbursed and there was no formal apology from the Home Office, even though the judge said that the case was a waste of time and taxpayers’ money.
The second time, the case went to court and was dismissed by the judge for similar reasons.
I found the process very distressing because when you get a refusal, the Home Office gives you 28 days to appeal the decision or leave the country. The letter is quite tart, and many would leave because fighting the decision doesn’t guarantee a positive outcome.
However, I was certain that I had grounds for appeal, and I still had my studies to complete. So, I fought and won, spending tens of thousands of pounds in the process.
Before I got my British citizenship, I had to pay a surcharge for my three children and myself to use the NHS, and throughout had no recourse to public funds. I worked and paid my taxes in full, so it felt very punitive.
There are many stories like mine in our community and not all of them have a positive outcome.
Changing the narrative to one of opportunity
The Higher Education sector works hard to attract students to the country — and as we know, the future survival of universities in the UK is dependent, to a large extent, on international recruitment. At Leeds, we also strive to have a global research footprint.
We need a government that listens and understands the challenges facing us in higher education, the contribution we make to economic growth and prosperity, and the impact we can have in tackling real-world problems.
We need to change the narrative to one of opportunity, embracing diversity and a deeper respect for one another.
It was revealing to hear during the University’s recent Africa Week events, that by 2050, 45% of the world’s youth will be from the African continent. That represents a huge human potential. Mastercard, for example, is currently investing millions of pounds in Africa to support 1,000 PhDs per year. Institutions like ours can work with our African partners to meet this target.
At the same time, in countries like my native Kenya, where the middle classes are growing, those seeking higher education abroad are choosing other European countries, Canada, USA and Australia. We are at risk of losing out because we are not attractive enough; because we haven’t got the right levels of diversity.
We are often seen as unwelcoming. For instance, the recent proposals to prevent international students who want to study in the UK from bringing dependents with them seem downright cruel to me.
After many years, I have a sense of belonging in Leeds. It’s a beautiful city. I’ve grown to love Yorkshire and feel right at home. But I still find myself having to establish my credibility, particularly in workspaces.
The paradox is that while I am hyper-visible, often being the only Black person (and at times Person of Colour) in the room, I am also rendered invisible — my intellect, my capabilities, my ethics, and my personality are eclipsed by my skin colour and undervalued.
Until you see me as human, we can’t even begin to have a conversation about equity. Minoritised ethnic people can be seen as less than human — a remnant of the colonial project. The African spirit of Ubuntu calls us to embrace our shared humanity, acknowledging and respecting the personhood of all human beings.
I believe we can foster a sense of belonging in our community no matter your background, skin colour, religion, race, gender, age, sex, disability, and all other forms of intersecting identities. We are working hard to do that within the University, but we can’t succeed without the commitment and support of the new government.
I truly hope all those reprehensible anti-immigration strobes we often see in the media and sections of government, including some of which have made it into campaign rhetoric and the recent racialised riots, are indeed, “The last kicks of this dying horse.”
